


We pick ourselves undone

by MisanthropyMuse



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bickering, Blasphemy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Orgasm Control, bareback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropyMuse/pseuds/MisanthropyMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're a cliché, they're complementary, they're in love, and nobody says anything about it because really, there's no need to state the obvious.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>That's what takes the sin out of it and, paradoxically, makes it worse. </i></p><p> </p><p>I tagged blasphemy because there are a few things that don't really go well with angels and demons and something about sin and religion and idk, don't think you'd be here if it bothered you, but if it does, don't read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We pick ourselves undone

Aziraphale clumsily falls on the bed and Crowley smirks, because it's always funny to see the angel fall and think of the parallels.

Aziraphale falls on his back, crawls up to the pillows and waits, with a soft smile and kind eyes and Crowley hates him, because he hates the irony. He once fell from goodness, condemning his soul to eternal damnation, and now, six thousand years later, he falls for goodness every time the angel smiles.

He would like to say that this fall doesn't hurt, because that would feel like a right divergence from the parallel, but it does. It hurts and it burns and bites from the inside of his immortal soul, prickling his fragile human skin and making him feel.

He feels the pain of being human and the pain of being damned, and it's incredible how little it actually hurts after all.

What is damnation if Aziraphale's lips wait for him at the end? What is hell if he can still feel in heaven when in Aziraphale's arms?

It's really cliché-y and Crowley knows it and hates it but he just can't help it.

And so he falls. He follows his angel on the bed, he crawls on him, up to his face, to his lips and he places kisses, soft pressure of lips against softer skin, and he bites a little, just a little, and he tastes goodness on his skin and it burns his tongue in the sweetest way, and, fuck, maybe, if someone had made him feel righteousness in this way before, maybe he wouldn't have fallen from Heaven.

«You're thinking too much,» Aziraphale whispers as he sees the demon's hands lightly shiver as he unbuttons his shirt.

«Can you blame me?» hisses Crowley. It's not really like him to be afraid of doing something he knows it's bad. Actually, that's kind of his job, and he likes it. But this is different, obviously, because Aziraphale always makes everything different and even if it's not their first time, Crowley always feels nervous.

Not for himself, for it's kinda difficult to have it any worse than him. He's already in Hell, after all. No, he fears for Aziraphale, because he's the one that would get in real trouble if the big guys found out about them. He's the one who still has all the time of the universe to fall, to be damned, and,  in spite of everything, in spite of Crowley's own nature,  it would break  his heart if it happened because of him. 

Aziraphale takes his chin with his hand, gently pulls him closer to his face and kisses his lips, with a tenderness that really doesn't suit the occasion. When he slides his tongue in, Crowley's brain short-circuits and shuts down.

He goes back to taking his shirt off with slightly firmer hands. When he finally gets rid of it, Aziraphale puts a hand on his chest and smiles in their kiss. Crowley pulls away to take his pants off, and the angel laughs softly at his short breath.

«You always forget you can not breathe,» he says and the demon makes a face.

«It's part of the game,» he says with a grin, and they both know it's a lie, but no one questions it. 

The truth is what they're doing and what he feels makes him feel so damn human he forgets he's actually a supernatural being,  he forgets he doesn't actually need air and his heart doesn't actually beat nor his blood circulates in his body. 

Aziraphale makes him feel human, and so his breath is short and his heart beats faster and his cheeks flush and his pants feel tight.

Aziraphale makes him feel human and he knows it and he respects it and it drives Crowley crazy. It unfair how much easier it is for the angel to control his emotions, his passions and his feelings, because he spends all his time helping others to avoid sin, and even if he does sin, because he still is in that bed and he still wants Crowley, he does it in a softer way, in a way that makes it look holy.

It seems like part of his mission, to fuck evil out of Crowley, even if they both know he's very much beyond any kind of redemption.

«You should try it too, you know. To let the barriers go down and just, you know, forget you're an angel. It's fun,» says Crowley and now lust stains Aziraphale's smile.

«Oh, I'm doing it. I'm very much doing it,» he says, eyeing the bulge in his pants.

Suddenly, Crowley feels his mouth dry. Human reactions, again.

He snaps his fingers and his trousers end up on the floor. He's left in his underwear now and he chooses not to feel the cold, but he feels how warm Aziraphale's hand is when he touches his chest, gently, and slowly slides down to the hem of his briefs. 

It's ridiculous how actually non sexual this situation is. None of them is doing this for pleasure, even if it does feel good on their human bodies and they like it. It's not a matter of flesh, of bodies, of blood. It's not a matter of sex.

That's what takes the sin out of it and, paradoxically, makes it worse. 

They're not craving each other's bodies, they don't want each other's dick. What they really see, what they reach out to touch, what they look for under their clothes, it's each other's soul.

Aziraphale sees Crowley's as he caresses his chest. Black and red faintly shimmering under his pale skin, painting his veins with unnatural colours. He touches warm human flesh and he feels the cold skin of a snake. He plays with the short dark hair that trail down Crowley's belly, and they feel like feathers. 

«It feels lighter than the last time,» he says and Crowley snorts.

«You say that every time, Az. I'll have to follow a strict bad actions diet,» he says. Aziraphale shakes his head and withdrew his hand. Crowley bends down, an inch away from his face. 

«Starting from now,» he says, and Aziraphale can't help but smile, even if just a little, as they kiss again, briefly, and then Crowley pulls up his pullover and reaches down to put a kiss on his soft belly underneath it. Aziraphale softly laughs, jerking away.

Crowley rolls his eyes but smiles fondly. Only a guy like Aziraphale could choose to be ticklish (and only Aziraphale could make it look adorable instead of just dumb).

«Are you going to undress me or do I have to miracle my clothes away?» Aziraphale says, dragging Crowley away from his silent adoration.

«Patience is a virtue, angel,» the demon replies as he pulls the shirt over Aziraphale's head and throws it away.

«Laziness is a sin,» the angel says, startling when the other slips a hand inside his trousers and palms his erection. That is a human sensation worth choosing to be felt.

«Fucking demons is also a sin, I believe,» says Crowley, unbuttoning the other's trousers and slowly pulling them down his legs.

Aziraphale has an answer on his lips, but he doesn't say it. He knows for a fact that the L-word always puts Crowley off, and he doesn't want to ruin the mood.

Instead, he just tells him to shut up and smiles when Crowley grins. Anyway, as Crowley raises his eyes on him, he knows there's no need to state the obvious. 

The demon touches the angel's chest as the other had done before. Aziraphale shines of gold and white and pale blue under the perfect baby pink of his skin. Under Crowley's pale, greyish fingertips, the angel's skin looks like molten gold.  It's warm and soft and it makes Crowley want to slide underneath it and bathe in righteousness. 

But when he slides his fingers down on his underbelly, Crowley sees the dark side too.

It's not real darkness, it's not evil. It's just a vague shade, like bits of rust on a metal fence, like a veil of dust on a photograph. It makes it heavier, but not heavy enough to be too much for an angel. Just the right amount of weight that helps keeping him on Earth.

Crowley smiles at it as he reaches for Aziraphale's mouth to kiss it. He snaps his fingers and they're suddenly naked, their unnecessary erections leaning against each other. 

Aziraphale laces his fingers into Crowley's hair and pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Crowley grasps both their dicks, stroking them together as the angels moans into his mouth.

He would never admit it, but in moments like this Aziraphale really understands why sex for the sake of sex is a sin. In his entire experience on Earth, there has been nothing, absolutely nothing else that made him feel so close to the joy he felt in Heaven.

The fact that it has always only come from Crowley made it so terribly dirtier Aziraphale shivered every time he thought about it. 

He moans again when Crowley tightens his grip and a bottle of lube suddenly appears in his hand, only half consciously desired. He pokes the demon with it, and Crowley laughs as he takes it.

He could say something about how unnecessary lube is for them and how human it is for Aziraphale to want to use it, but he doesn't, because he likes the feeling of it as much as the other does. 

And also, he loves how subtly the angel is telling him that he wants him.

But first, Crowley goes for foreplay. He pulls back and puts Aziraphale's legs up and open. The angel is already shivering with anticipation, but the demon takes his time.  He sticks out two fingers for Aziraphale to lick them. He sucks on them with the most innocent expression that just drives Crowley crazy. When he pulls them out of his mouth, they shine like gold for a moment, but they're back to their normal, greyish colour when he slides them together up Aziraphale's ass. 

The angel shrieks a little, and Crowley grins. That little masochist shit who chooses to feel the pain. 

But when Crowley starts sliding back and forth while scissoring, only moans come out of Aziraphale's mouth. He could go on forever, just watching Aziraphale relish in the pleasure he gives him, but he has needs too. 

So he pulls his fingers out, laughing softly at how Aziraphale frowns, and spills a generous amount of lube on his hand. The angel watches him as he strokes himself, but there's no lust in his eyes, because again, it's not desire that brings them together.

And when Crowley reaches down to kiss Aziraphale as he pushes into him, their bodies lace and their souls collide in a burst of light that would blind any human witness. And it's in that light that they see clearly what they've always known, what is always between them when they're together, what brings them close and some times closer.

It's in that light that sex and intimacy make sense, and the hint of light in Crowley's soul and the shade of darkness in Aziraphale's reveal for what they really are: not the influence of the other, but of humanity. 

Slowly and patiently, over the millenniums, humanity has taken away pieces of what they were, pieces of darkness and light, of black and white, and has replaced them with dim light and hazy shade, with a constantly growing patch of grey. 

And yes, of course, Earth is great for a number of things, for antique books and vintage cars, for cocoa and Queen compilations, but it's even greater because they can be there together and alone and have dinner at the Ritz and make out like teenagers on the hood of Crowley's car. 

Because they can feel human without no explanation, and because, like humans do, they can feel complete in each other's arms.

If someone could see their souls as they curl on each other and press their foreheads together and forget the entire universe around them, they would remind them of something really close to the yin and yang symbol. And it's a cliché, but it's what it is. Complementarity in its purest form.

(it's funny to think about it, because they're the only two on Earth able to see their souls and they know what they look like and they know what it means and none of them has ever said anything because that's just how they are)

Crowley pushes and pushes and Aziraphale moans with no restraint, calling his name like a prayer and laughing with himself because of the irony. 

Crowley strokes him at different paces and rubs his thumb on his tip and plays with his balls, and Aziraphale shudders under his touch and tells him to go on forever.

Crowley whispers things in his ear, things that cannot be heard, and Aziraphale kisses him, just kisses him, because any other reply would be wrong.

They could go on for ages, delaying their orgasms and relishing in pleasure. 

Crowley comes after what seems an eternity, and he's unnecessarily panting and sweating and feeling tired, swearing in the language the people of Babel spoke, and Aziraphale smiles and kisses him for the umpteenth time and comes too, his seed dripping between the demon's fingers still wrapped around his cock. 

Crowley collapses onto him and Aziraphale caresses his hair, kissing his forehead and his nose and his cheeks with the tenderness of a mother and a fifteen years old girlfriend. 

Crowley curls up at his side and maybe hisses when the other moves to face him and press his forehead to his and lace their fingers and their legs.

And they could make weariness disappear with a snap of their fingers, they could be all dressed and fresh and awake in the bat of an eyelash, but they choose not to. They lie there, choosing to breath, choosing to feel, and they slowly fall asleep just because they can.

And they're yin and yang again.

«Az, I-,» Crowley tried, with a rough and sleepy voice. But Aziraphale stops him by putting a finger on his lips. 

«Sleep,» he says.

And again (and forever) there's no need to state the obvious. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I spent my Christmas day writing this , while I should have written like 4 other things, and I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it. I want to wish you all happy holidays and a happy new year. 
> 
> The title is taken from Flaws, by Bastille, for kind of obvious reasons I don't need to state (ahaha how funny).  
> If you want to come say hi, [here's my Tumblr](http://myhearthasbeenwelltrained.tumblr.com/)


End file.
